


I am, I am not

by TheHangedMan



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24637591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHangedMan/pseuds/TheHangedMan
Summary: Still, the dispassionate words didn’t stop Belial. He smiled again, patting Lucifer against his back, and began to recite romantic prose from memory, his smooth voice rolling over the syllables with ease. A pretty story, enunciated clearly and announced boldly, left Belial’s lips, spinning a web of love and longing into the open air. Lucifer hung onto the words tightly, mourning each and every one as they dissipated like smoke before him. It wasn’t until he finished that Lucifer turned to find Belial’s stare fixed on Lucilius.Lucifer was not a poem.
Relationships: Belial/Lucilius (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 74





	I am, I am not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlumTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Ellie! Art by Makarakaja

Up in the sky there are many stars. Some are near and some are far. Some are made of gas and dust, while others of flesh and blood.

At first, Lucifer had not understood.

“It’s not meant to be taken literally,” Belial explained to him over a garden wall. He had always been far better at the dissection of prose.

Lucifer’s eyes followed the delicate lines of poetry, brushing away a leaf from the pages. “Why would the author say something that they didn’t mean? It seems misleading.”

“It’s a metaphor. Here, look.” Belial approached him, positioning himself by Lucifer’s side. He reached over his shoulder and underlined the passage with a fingertip. “When it says flesh and blood it shifts from being literal to figurative. By saying that stars are made from flesh and blood means that they can be people. Equating one to a star is calling that person great.”

Lucifer cocked his head to the side. “A star is someone great? Do you know someone like that?”

“Of course. Cilius.”

“Lucilius.” The title was fitting. 

“Aren’t you a star too, dear Luci?” Belial, the man who was his adjutant, retreated with a smug smile, “The best and the brightest. Nothing else that Lucilius ever created will match up.”

Back then, in that garden, Lucifer had not understood. He had averted his eyes and said his reluctant thanks to his twin— equal to him in almost every way. He had not grasped the meaning beneath the words. Later, after many long nights of contemplation, Lucifer, whose name meant light bringer, would understand why he had felt such discomfort from the words. But for now, Lucifer simply let it be. “You as well, Belial.”

“I don’t think you’re really grasping the meaning.” Belial sighed. “Oh well. We can pick this up again tomorrow.”

Lucifer was not a star.

~

“Poetry is a waste of your time.” Lucilius had told Lucifer as he glanced at the book in Belial’s hand. “I did not create you with aptitude for such material. If you wish to study then focus on the biologies and sciences. You may leave the more frivolous arts to Belial.”

“Frivolous? Is that what I am?” An airy laugh followed. Lucifer made to retract his hand, but Belial pushed the book towards him anyway. “Getting around a bit builds character, lets you figure out what you’re into.” Lucilius glared in Belial’s direction, but made no move to stop Lucifer as he accepted the literature. “Just be glad I’m not giving Luci the meatier stuff to choke down. I wonder what kind of face he’d make seeing—“

“Do not corrupt him.”

Belial dismissed Lucilius with a wave of his hand before settling down on the garden bench beside him. “Don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”

“Thank you for the book.” Folding in his wings, Lucifer seated himself delicately at their creator’s other side, careful not to disturb Lucilius with a face full of feathers. Dismissing his wings entirely would have been easier, but Lucilius had instructed him not to do so. The white wings were a symbol of his rank, he needed to remind the others always so that they did not forget their own roles.

“Don’t mention it.” Belial draped an arm around the back of the bench. His fingers grazed past silver hair and white feathers before they settled behind Lucifer. “You can keep it, I’ve got that one memorized.”

“If you have free time you may read, but don’t neglect your duties to do so.” Lucilius’ instructions came, his face turned away from Belial. A smug smile split Belial’s mouth and he leaned in bodily against Lucilius, resting his head against the creator’s. A flat look crossed Lucilius’ face, but he did not dignify the contact with a response. Instead, his attention remained on Lucifer. “Do try to study something more substantial than romantic poetry as well. I’ll have my books on Auguste’s marine life sent to your quarters.”

“At this rate Luci’ll end up boring. Cut him some slack, you like a bit of poetry here and there too.”

Lucilius scoffed, “I do, occasionally, but it is pointless for artificial beasts like you two to partake in such fanciful romantic drivel. Primal beasts are incapable of understanding love.”

“That so? What about you Cilius? Do you feel love?”

Lucifer cocked his head to the side and regarded their creator curiously. It was true that they had been taught that creatures that were born and died could feel such a thing, but he had never considered the thought that Lucilius could as well.

“I do.” Something akin to sadness edged onto Lucilius’ features for a moment before it was extinguished. “It is better that the both of you cannot. I wouldn’t wish such a hardship onto anything that I created.”

“You make it sound so miserable.” Belial prodded again. His face had taken on an ambiguous quality. “Nothing like the poems.”

“Life is not a story book. Words on paper are meaningless if they serve no purpose but fill the brain with idealistic nonsense. If you seek to understand love then action and inaction are the only truths you need know.”

Still, the dispassionate words didn’t stop Belial. He smiled again, patting Lucifer against his back, and began to recite romantic prose from memory, his smooth voice rolling over the syllables with ease. A pretty story, enunciated clearly and announced boldly, left Belial’s lips, spinning a web of love and longing into the open air. Lucifer hung onto the words tightly, mourning each and every one as they dissipated like smoke before him. It wasn’t until he finished that Lucifer turned to find Belial’s stare fixed on Lucilius.

Lucifer was not a poem.

~

The task of creating another angel was given to Lucifer, however the purpose of the creation was not specified. It was an experiment, Lucilius had explained without expanding. He seemed busy and the information was adequate to complete the task so Lucifer did not press for more details. 

“You should be more than capable, I have the blueprints here for you.” A stack of folded papers were passed along into Lucifer’s arms. “Although I ask that you follow the basic design, you will have much freedom in this project. I ask that you care for the creature you make.”

“As you did for us?”

Lucilius paused and his brows pinched together. “As I did for you.”

“Will Belial be creating something as well?”

Lucilius shook his head. “He expressed disinterest in caring for another living creature. Your tending to the garden has shown me that you have a greater aptitude for the task. Teach the creature what you know so that it may take over for you if you are unable to continue.”

“To care for the garden?”

“Yes… the garden…?” The circles under Lucilius’ eyes had grown darker. Lucifer's gaze was fixed on them as his creator’s attention wandered. “I didn’t create you to tend to such a small patch of earth. If you are a gardener then your garden is the skies. Turn your gaze higher and cultivate them for their higher purpose.”

“I understand.” Lucifer gave a slight bow to further indicate his commitment to the task.

“Still… It would be sad to see this place neglected. Keep the creature here. Soon you will have more responsibilities and you may find the plants wilting without your constant care.”

A bright smile broke out on Lucifer’s cheeks and he found that he had to turn his head away in order to contain himself. “Thank you.”

Lucifer was not a gardener.

~

The creature Lucifer made, he made in the image of the two he called his friends. Brown hair, red eyes, small of stature and slight of frame. At first, as Lucifer worked on the design, it had been subconscious, but, as he realized what it was that he had done, it became purposeful. 

To pass the hours that he spent fashioning the core, he sang to the half formed shell. Lucilius had told Lucifer once he’d done the same for him and Belial, that all of creation had been woven from the threads of music that the creator god had once sang. It felt only right to do the same as he spoke life into another. So, although Lucifer had no heavenly hymnals to serenade his creation with, he gave melody to Belial’s poems and filled the workshop with his voice.

When Lucifer was finished, he bestowed upon the creation his breath of life and gave him the name Sandalphon. Lucilius and Belial were the first two that he presented the new angel to. Belial took to his creation instantly, assailing Sandalphon with his crass language and explicit insinuations. Understandably, Sandalphon was distressed. Most were when confronted with such a crude tongue lashing. 

But, conversely, even in the wake of Belial’s poor behavior, Lucilius said nothing. Instead he stared and stared at the creature before him, unnerving the somewhat shy Sandalphon with the intensity of his gaze. It was only after a full circle had been done around the angel and his wings thoroughly assessed that Lucilius voiced his thoughts.

“Why did you make it so small?”

Lucifer was at a loss for words.

“He’s plenty cute.” Belial swung an arm around Sandalphon’s shoulders and the angel stiffened at the contact. “Great legs and a slender waist, I can see where Lucifer was going with this. Wonder what kinda ass he gave you…?” Sandalphon snatched the hem of his skirts away before Belial could make to lift them and find out for himself.

“Get it shoe inserts or heels, Lucifer. Something of that short a stature is not becoming of the title of archangel.” At Lucilius’ words, Sandalphon colored, but still he remained silent before the council of his perceived betters.

“My friend, are you displeased?” Lucifer was at his heels, following him as he exited the presentation chamber.

A cold sort of anger was spilling from Lucilius, trailing behind him like a heavy weight. “I had expected you to choose to create something more akin to yourself.” Then, the weight rolled off and Lucilius was slowing. “Do not trouble yourself with my disappointment. I was not clear with my instructions. The creature will do. Leave it in the garden.”

Lucifer was not a creator.

~

Lucifer found the two of them under a tree.

The day was sunny and a pleasant breeze wafted through the garden bringing with it the sweet smell of herbs. Had Sandalphon not been absent, called away for a regular medical check up, Lucifer might have spent what time he had with the other. It was a pleasant thought; the pair of them situated at the table where they always met, talking easily over cups of coffee. 

Instead, Lucifer had found himself walking the open air halls in the mid morning, caught up in his own thoughts. For a while he had wandered aimlessly, a luxury for his title. But, as he caught the smell of fresh lavender and rosemary, his footfalls gained new direction. He stepped off of the stone walkway and the soles of his boots met grass. In springtime, the garden was beautiful; much the picture of tranquility that Lucifer found himself longing for time and time again. It had flourished under Sandalphon’s care.

However, as Lucifer explored the grounds, he came upon an unexpected sight. It was beneath an ancient tree, far older than Lucifer himself, that his drifting gaze found purchase. 

Belial.

His presence wasn’t particularly odd on its own. Belial could often be found as he was now, lounging with his back against a tree trunk, idly flipped through the pages of a book. What made the scene a spectacle was the heap of white robes situated against him, rising and falling in peaceful slumber. Lucilius leaned against Belial’s side, eyes closed and lips parted, uncharacteristically unguarded. 

Lucifer paused in his pacings to observe them. The scene was nostalgic. Many pleasant days the three of them had spent together under that same tree, before responsibilities had robbed them of the time. If not for fear of disturbing his creator’s sleep, Lucifer might have settled himself at Belial’s other side. But something else about doing so felt unwelcome. Lucifer couldn’t quite place his finger on why, so he continued to stare, trying to decode the strange expression on Belial’s face. There was a smile there, unlike Lucifer had ever seen. The corners of Belial’s eyes were soft and his attention drifted away from the pages more than once to rest upon the slumbering form of his companion. Belial had always been attentive to Lucilius, but this wasn’t just that.

The spell on Belial was broken the instant the wind shifted. His sharp eyes darted up and caught sight of Lucifer’s open gawking. Immediately the gentle expression slipped off of his face and something more guarded replaced it. Belial didn’t move, but Lucifer could feel the unease. Belial must have been worried about him waking Lucilius. There was no need. A reassuring smile was delivered in Belial’s direction and Lucifer gave a slight inclination of his head in silent greeting. Wordlessly, he altered his path, leaving the two alone beneath the old tree. 

Lucifer found himself back at the old iron garden table. There he sat, losing himself in his thoughts. A deeper sadness began to well up in his chest as self reflection set in. As much as Lucifer had wanted to join the two beneath the tree, he understood now that the shaded patch of grass was not meant for him. Lucifer was not a man as Lucilius was nor a companion as Belial was. The path he walked was set apart. Supreme Primarch, the title he had been given, meant he was never to return to those sweet summer days, it meant that his place was not with Belial at his creator’s side. His place wasn’t even here, at this table with Sandalphon. 

It was alone.

Lucifer was not a tree.

~

“Why do some of the birds disappear in the winter?” Sandalphon asked from behind a curtain of ivy.

“They’re migratory,” Lucifer began as he pruned away dead foliage with a pair of small gardening shears, “when the weather grows colder resources become scarce so they fly until they reach warmer climates. When the seasons shift again they return.”

“But only some?”

Lucifer confirmed the speculation with a nod. “Many of the birds that nest here are permanent residents capable of surviving year round despite the hardships.”

Sandalphon’s fingers delicately supported the stem of a new coffee plant as Lucifer transferred it into the soil. His crimson eyes looked upward, lost in a private thought. The dirt was smoothed over and the gardening gloves set aside.“I bet it gets lonely, having all of your friends fly away.”

“I have never thought about it that way.” Following Sandalphon’s gaze, Lucifer found it fixed upon a small red bird perched up in the branches of a tall oak tree. It chirped its song as it hopped from branch to branch. Others responded to the tune, adding in their own voices where they saw fit. Sandalphon had a way of speaking life into things.

“We’re like birds.”

“Birds?” Lucifer parted his lips and pinched his brows. “Because of our wings?”

The brown curls atop Sandalphon’s head displaced themselves as he shook his head quickly. “Because I stay and you go, but you always return to see me.” In response to the words, an uncertain smile slid onto Lucifer’s face. Sandalphon returned the gesture brightly. “Would you show me how to make coffee again?”

“Of course.”

Lucifer was not a bird.

~

It was inside mazes of oak book shelves and among the scent of old paper that he found them next. The first time Lucifer had been an onlooker, but this time, he was an intruder. 

The Library was new, but the books were old. Usually they were treated with care; stacked up only so high that they would not topple, put away exactly where they had been found. Lucifer found a pile on the ground. He knew something was not right. Patiently, he gathered up the books in his arms and made to seek out their proper homes. It was then he heard the hushed whispers from behind a shelf. 

What compelled him to pause and listen, to deduce the quiet voices from the otherwise stale and stagnant air, was beyond him. But he stopped and turned his ear in the direction of the words. There, between book spines, through the open backed shelf, Lucifer saw what he shouldn’t have; a promise passed between parted lips. Gentle hands and gentle smiles. Belial’s mouth against Lucilius’ and Lucilius’ arms around his neck. 

All at once the easy words and longing looks from Belial to Lucilius began to click. Lucifer felt his heart beat faster as he watched Belial’s hand slide up Lucilius’ thigh, bringing up the hem of his robes as it did so. A muffled groan escaped Lucilius. A passionate sigh flew from Belial.

“I love you.” A declaration so quiet that Lucifer almost missed it. Given in exchange for the same words from the other’s open mouth. Mutual and impossible. Love. Belial, as a Primal beast, was not capable of such a thing. Love. Lucilius had denounced it time and time again. Love. Right there in front of Lucifer, like a poem unfolding from Belial’s lips. 

When Lucifer turned and fled it was not out of jealousy or hurt as sky dwellers often described with ink and paper. The reason why he ran was because of the overwhelming realization that assailed him; the realization that things were not as he believed them to be.

Lucifer was not a machine.

~

Lucifer took Lucilius’ head.

It was upon the consecrated steps of Canaan, at the abandoned altar that Lucilius had once built with his own hands, long before Lucifer had been created, to honor the creator god. The act of taking a life was not easy— it never was, but more so now considering who that life belonged to. Blood pooled beneath Lucifer’s boots, it stained his skirts and dripped from his sword. A gash in the stone channeled the gore into a neat little stream. Lucifer watched it with impassive eyes.

What was blood outside the body but just red water? Lucifer knew that wasn’t correct, blood was made of more components than just water and dye, it was cells and plasma and iron and— it didn’t matter. Blood within the body was life. Blood outside the body was death.

A metaphor. If Belial were here, Lucifer didn’t think he’d care. Upon the steps his love was growing cold, head still barely attached. The blow had not been clean, the turmoil within Lucifer’s heart had seen to that. He couldn’t even offer his dear friend a clean and painless death. Lucilius had died, lungs collapsing and filling with blood. In his final moments, Lucilius had spoken, but what he’d said Lucifer could not recall now. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

If blood was life with the body and death without, then Lucifer was covered in death. If love was more than a feeling and an idea, if it could be a person, then he had murdered it with an order from his mouth and the swing of his blade. Lucifer had slain his father, betrayed his brother, and abandoned his son— or the closest things he had to them.

Sandalphon. Lucilius. Belial. He had lost them all in one day.

Lucifer was not a star that guided ships through the night. He was not a poem recited to a lover on a pleasant spring day. He was not a gardener who guided sprouts to reach fragile hands towards the sun. He was not a creator that breathed life into nothingness. Lucifer was not a tree or a serpent or an apple. He was not a songbird or the nest of thorns and olive branches that it called home. He was not a machine that felt nothing. Lucifer wasn’t even an executioner taking the head of a tyrant to free the skies of treachery.

What he was, was nothing.

Well, maybe a cog at most; a gear, oiled by blood, that kept turning and turning pretending that the act of turning was all that there was in life. Even this defiance was a demonstration of compliance. 

Lucilius had been a star who became a black hole. Belial had been pages of poetry torn to shreds between disillusioned fingers. Sandalphon had been a songbird, neglected and forgotten in a jeweled cage. Was it better to never have loved and lost than to have felt love at all? In that moment, the pain made Lucifer uncertain.

Lucifer knelt beside the body of his creator and, with gentle hands, he closed the dead man’s eyes and kissed his brow. Then, quietly, he thanked Lucilius and said goodnight. 

[](url)  



End file.
